The eyes of one Baxter Holmes rested on the window of the rural two-story home, meeting a duplicate pair. But not a reflection. Another Baxter that screamed to be let in.
The rest of the family were heavy sleepers. They had to be with the noises that rural nighttime brings. Especially in areas with rumors of the Not-People.
Legends, myths, and tales of the things have permeated conversation since the days of Victorian London. Creatures that sought to replace so that they could feed. They could mimic man and woman almost perfectly.
Almost.
There would be times that a Not-Person would slip up in some almost imperceptible way. A finger longer than it should be, patches of miscolored hair, an eye that wouldn't stay still. The longer they held a form that was meant to fool or soothe their prey, the harder it was for them to maintain, and the more they would ‘glitch’.
As if to put his musings on the creatures into reality, the Baxter outside bore broader shoulders than he should, His eyes were just a bit too big. The mimicking monster was losing concentration as it got more angry.
Baxter simply folded his arms as he sat in the chair facing the window. He and it both knew that it's highest chance to not die trying to get in would be if he willingly opened that door.
While these things were more successful than you'd think at fooling most people, they weren't invincible. Those that were found out and weren't quick enough to kill those around them would find themselves butchered. Often so much so that whatever they reverted into upon their death was not recognizable.
What ones had not been maimed beyond study had been described as what a human would appear to be if it were turned inside out and that slick, grotesque shell stretched over an oversized frame.
Disgusting.
This had become a nightly routine. Not-People would try the form of his wife, his son, his little baby girl… but it was usually his face they tried to emulate to get inside. A different one every night.
And he would sit there for a few hours, watch their attempts to get in, Then go to bed. Every night.
Giving his doppelganger one last look, he slipped away from the living room and towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms. He stopped at his daughter's bedroom first. Olivia was three years old and an ornery toddler. Her room's pink walls almost seemed to light up the room more than the moonlight. As Baxter approached the bed, he noticed something at the window.
…. Another Olivia clinging to the windowsill. Her fingers had nails like claws and her eyes were sunken. This Not-Person was not yet used to mimicking small children. It made eye contact with him. It knew he wasn't going to let it in, so it just stared.
More than one tonight. An odd occurence but he wasn't too worried. Any attempted entrance would begin a very brief, but aggressive introduction to the 2nd Amendment for the intruder. They were not immortal, nor invincible. They knew this, and so they simply tried to fool him into opening the doors or windows.
He made sure Olivia was sleeping before heading for the bedroom of his son, Vincent.
Before even opening the door, he was telling himself to check the window. And when he did, there was another one. This one resembled Vincent’s mischievous face, his sly smirk that he always had when he was about to ambush Baxter with a prank that would start a mini pillow war.
The real Vincent slept soundly, snoring like he was a running lawnmower. He ruffled his son's hair softly and made his way to the master bedroom. He already knew he'd have to check the window.
Yes, there was a fourth one there. Strands of purple marred the perfect blonde hair. She had tears streaming down her cheeks as if that would convince Baxter that she was in fact the real Isabella and not the one sleeping soundly in the bed.
It was pathetic at this point. He ignored it, just as he'd go on continuing to ignore them. He lovingly brushed his fingers across Isabella's cheek. They could never catch her. Not her, not Victor, not Olivia.
When he looked up again, her doppelganger was gone. He slowly retraced his steps, and those mimicking his children were gone as well.
It wasn't until he got back to the living room that he realized just where they'd gone. They were with the Not-Baxter. They were all pressed to the window. They wanted in. Still not desperate enough to break in… and they'd have to disperse when the sun rose. If they tried to hold those forms that long, when people started waking up, they'd be able to tell what these four were and then there'd be no escape.
He wasn't going to stay up that long though. He had better things to do.
Baxter slowly approached the window and slowly set his hand flat against the cold glass. He spread his fingers…
Spread them further than they should go. A smile spread across his lips that stretched just a bit too far. With his lips parting, he met the eyes of the four outside and mouthed five words as he watched their eyes widen.
“Sorry… I got here first.”